Angels of Anarchy
Angels of Anarchy
Alright, this is actually the middle of the story, but I wanted to start with it because it came to me in a rush of creativity at 1 this morning :-D
This is a conversation between the Joker and a psycho-analyst (she's trying to profile the Joker, figure out why he kills and his pattern). I do NOT own the joker, because if I did I would be a rich and not writing fanfics while I'm bored on summer break. I do KINDA own the character he is talking to, but I steal her personality from her parents (just can't tell you who they are yet), who I do not own either. Please read and review, I have the rest of the story started in my head, but I'm not sure yet I'll be writing it all.
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I walked into his room. I had decided it would be best to try this where he was most comfortable. I requested they not give him any sort of drugs today, and not bind him.
I choose to wear one of my old outfits, jeans and a black wife beater so that I would be more comfortable in this situation. My dreadlocks were free on my head, and I hadn't worn any contacts so my bright grayish blue eyes could stare into his. I wasn't sure what was going to happen, but at this point I was desperate to get something besides lies and gibberish out of him. After a month of going, all I know is that he doesn't remember much about when he was young. Thinks sex is highly overrated, and likes to think of people as chess pieces. Great.
His hair had grown quiet long, with green frosted tips and dark brown hair dripping wet from the mandatory shower, and wildly curly around his thinning face, he looked almost human. We were both bare of any façade. "Hello Alice" his face broke into a manic smile as I entered the room. "I see by the looks of it, it's casual Friday here at PsychoCentral"
I chuckled at his little attempt at humor, and leaned against the wall. Don't look nervous. I tried to put on my stern parent face. I jumped right into where I wanted our conversation to go today, no more beating around the issue that plagued me most. "You know, without a motive you're just crazy. Without a motive you are stuck in here forever. There has to be a reason you are who you are, and you do what you do. Things just don't –"
His face lit up, his brilliant mind welcoming intelligent conversation. "You people…and your motive…action theory. You are so obsessed with reason that you can't begin to comprehend…that some things happen without it. Some things occur, no long term...and." He sighed, trying to organize his thoughts. His speech pattern, remaining at it's steady inconsistency "Random acts. No motive, nothing it in."
"People don't just do. Something happened to make them want to."
He began to get a little frustrated, "You can't believe in something happening w/out some sort of motive or as a reaction. Sometimes you just act, no reason, no great subconscious, repression, nothing." His face made a twisted smile, "What happened in your past that you are trying to make some linear sense out of?"
My face began to get flush, I spoke more rapidly and this seemed to delight him, "Nothing is random, there is pattern in everything. Even you. You assume I think the way I do because of something that could have happened a long time ago. It would be a reason; it shaped me as a person. It becomes part of my processing when I think. You…there has got to be the key event to you" I stared into his eyes, searching and begging with my soul. I changed tactics, "When was your first kill."
His voice coated with annoyance, "I already told you that I don't remember."
I kept pushing him, but trying to keep calm in my voice, "What's the first time you remember? How much blood, what did it smell like, feel –"
His face regained the contorted grin from earlier, "You're crAaAaAzy."
I moved closer to him, my hands near my face, I wanted to reach out and shake him. Instead I took a deep breath, "The reason's locked away in you somewhere. I'm just trying to understand it. If we can figure out why you do it…there is order to you somewhere." I sighed, I wanted to sit down, the whole encounter was more taxing that I had anticipated.
"No great mystery. It felt good." His voice took on a slightly lower octave, almost growling, he rushed towards my body in an all to familiar choke hold against the wall "Better than an orgasm," his body pressed into mine, his lips nearing my ears, "better then the rush of drugs. Life as it was leaving the frail body." His lips pressed into my neck at the artery. He snatched his head away and looked up into my eyes, "hahahaHAHAHAHAHAHA don't look so pale doctor. You did ask me. Are you curious about it so much because you want to do it? OOOOh, I do recommend a knife, it can leave such" and his voice dropped to a growl, "an impression." He began tonguing the scares on his face in an attempt to show them off.
Breaking, as I had done once before, I threw my body weight at him, tumbling to the floor, my hands now around his throat and my legs rapped around his stomach, my face now invading his, "So why don't you kill me? Why don't you kill Batman? Where is your switch? When does it feel bad? When does you chaos become too much?" I was growling by the end of this, my teeth bared. Our roles completely reversed, he had done it again. Caused me to get to the point where he wanted me, mad and almost tipping over the edge. Today I could feel the edge slipping, I could see it, and suddenly the memories came flying back at me.
He smiled, and touched my face tenderly, "Oh, I can't tell you thhaaaat." His hands roamed behind my head and into my dreads. He slowly eased my face to his chest, "Where is your sense of adventure dear Alice? What's in this for you? What's in your head?" My body went limp with exhaustion as he rubbed my back.
The room started spinning as I remembered.
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So, what do you think? It should probably be edited, and the likes. Please read and review.